


Talk To Me (Before It’s Too Late)

by izazov



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: It takes two to fight. It also takes two to talk.





	Talk To Me (Before It’s Too Late)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cap IM Tiny RB Round 4 and inspired by [Loss and Hope](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11351532) by Winterstar

Steve has given up attempting to draw almost an hour ago.

He was still holding his sketchbook, though. Steve was not entirely certain why. It was not as if there was any comfort - or sense, for that matter - in staring at the choppy, angry lines he’s managed to scrawl but seeing something else entirely.

Steve didn’t need to close his eyes to see the explosion; the sight of it might as well been branded onto his mind: the burst of flames and dust, followed by crumbling debris of a ten storey building.

And Tony was there, inside, had been inside at the moment of explosion.

Usually, Steve could deal with any lingering post battle adrenaline without much effort. He was good at compartmentalizing, in and out of battle, but this time he found himself unable to get past the helplessness and bone-deep terror he’d felt when that building came down.

Steve could not stop reliving those awful moments when there had been nothing but silence on Tony’s comm line. For Steve, it felt like crashing into the Atlantic all over again. He just stood there, on the sidewalk, clutching his shield, powerless to do anything - to move, to think, to scream - as ice claimed him, seeping into his blood and bones, down to his very core.

Then the comm line came alive in the burst of static and Tony’s elated voice, and Steve could breathe again.

An entire day later, and there was still a shard of ice wedged in the space behind Steve’s ribcage that neither relief nor anger have been able to thaw.

It was a realization, a hard and bitter truth that Tony would never fully trust him.

Tony and he were like a powder keg and a lit match - always have been, always would be - but they have found a way to turn their conflicting life philosophies into something positive; a strength not a detriment, especially after getting together.

They have been… dating, for lack of a better word, for almost a year. It was a lot longer than a year since Steve had accepted that the complicated tangle of emotions Tony evoked in him went far beyond simple friendship. Not that Steve had planned to act on it. Even if he’d been willing to take a chance and look past all their differences, there had never been the right time for it. Especially after Siberia. Then Thanos had changed everything, uniting the Avengers once again. Rebuilding his friendship with Tony had been more than enough for Steve, or at least that was what he’d been telling himself.

To this day, Steve could not say for certain what had made him kiss Tony for the first time. It had been an ordinary day, no impending threat loomed on the horizon, and he and Tony were alone in Tony’s lab. Tony had been talking about building a new suit, and Steve had listened even if he could not keep up with the technical details, concentrating instead on the gleam in Tony’s eyes, on the way Tony kept gesticulating excitedly and grinning widely. Tony’s passion and enthusiasm were infectious, and soon Steve had found himself grinning along with Tony, a bright and easy feeling untangling inside him. 

Steve could not recall making a decision to stand up and close the distance between them, to slide his hand to the back of Tony’s head and lean down, bringing their lips together. But he could recall the way Tony had gone utterly still for one moment, not pushing Steve away but doing nothing to reciprocate either. And then, when Steve had begun pulling away, chest heavy and cold, Tony’s mouth opened, his arms coming up to rest on Steve’s shoulders as he’d taken control of the kiss, turning it from a tentative brush of lips into something urgent and heated.

That was the start, start of something good and precious, and Steve did not want to give up. Would fight to his last breath to protect.

Steve wanted to keep waking to the sight of Tony in his arms, to doze off with his head pillowed in Tony’s lap while Tony carded absentminded fingers through Steve’s hair, to skip the words and simply carry Tony out of his workshop when he’d been there for far too long.

But he could not do it alone. Just as he couldn’t - wouldn’t - remain in a relationship with Tony when it was obvious that it was not so much a question of _if_ but _when_ Tony would finally end up killing himself with his genius ideas.

Steve could not tolerate it. Not as Tony’s team leader, and sure as hell not as his lover.

Steve released a heavy breath, his fingers tightening briefly around the sketchbook, when he heard the footsteps approach him from behind his back but otherwise he’d remained perfectly still. He knew who it was even before he felt a soft, tentative brush of lips against his cheek.

“You’re brooding,” Tony said, his breath hot against the shell of Steve’s ear. Slowly, he slid his hand down Steve’s side, then up his chest until it rested over Steve’s heart.

Steve’s eyes fell shut, and, just for a moment, he leaned back into the comforting warmth of Tony’s body, shutting down every thought, and ignoring the tight knot of anger that was settled low in his gut.

Nothing mattered save that Tony was here, solid and real and alive, and in that small space between two heartbeats Steve could be happy.

Could still hold onto _this_.

“I’m not brooding,” Steve said, opening his eyes and pulling away. Tony didn’t try to stop him. “I’m thinking.”

“Well, your thinking face is very similar to your brooding face,” Tony said. He sounded amused. Steve tightened his jaw fractionally. Tony had probably filed away yesterday’s events as ancient history, something not worth the trouble of remembering. “You can’t fault me for mistaking one for the other.”

Steve felt his fingers curl into fists as the anger that’s been simmering in the pit of his belly ever since yesterday blazed brighter and hotter. He took a deep breath and carefully placed the sketchbook down on the sofa. Then he rose to his feet, turning to face Tony.

Tony was standing on the other side of the sofa, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. He had his head tilted slightly to the side, and there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, but it did not reach his eyes; they remained alert, searching. Cautious.

Steve folded his arms across his chest, his mouth setting into a tight line. Maybe he’d been wrong about Tony forgetting about yesterday’s explosion. Although, Steve wasn’t as optimistic to attribute it to regret or guilt. Tony was never sorry about gambling with his life. 

“Feel free to tell me I’m wrong,” Toy said, voice calm, casual. The nervous tap of his fingers against the sofa’s backrest painted a different picture. “But it occurs to me that you’ve been avoiding me, Steve.”

“Like I said,” Steve’s voice came out harsher than was his intent, “I needed time to think.”

Tony blinked, a wary expression settling on his face. He stopped drumming, his fingers curling into a loose fist on the backrest. “This is about yesterday, right? The mission? The one that was a complete success?”

Steve blinked away the red spots dancing in the corners of his vision. “Complete success?” Steve ground out. He could feel his heart speed up as his control over his mounting anger slipped. “That depends on whether or not you were actually trying to kill yourself, Tony.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tony snapped back, throwing his hands up. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

Steve took a deep breath. His pulse was pounding in his ears. “And what would you call bringing a building down on your own head?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Steve defiantly. “The right call.”

Steve carefully lowered his hands. His fingers were itching to wrap around Tony’s shoulders and shake a semblance of sense into him.

“I’m the team leader,” Steve pointed out, voice harsh. “It should have been my call.”

Tony’s eyes flashed. He stuck his chin out. “I know you’re the leader, Steve, but you weren’t there, I was. And I did what I had to do to keep half of Jersey from going up in flames.”

A shiver ran down the length of Steve’s spine, calming his rising anger by a fraction. He’d been at the debrief, he’d listened to Tony listing what he’d done and what would have happened if he hadn’t. He’d memorized the data. He could easily imagine the catastrophe they had avoided.

But that wasn’t the point. And, as usual, Tony was completely blind to what _was_.

“Is it always going to be a numbers game with you?”

Tony blinked at Steve, his expression showing genuine confusion. “What?”

Steve shook his head, ignoring the tightening in his chest. He didn’t want to do this, to have this conversation and - quite possibly - back himself against the wall, but he had no choice.

Tony had left him no choice.

“Well, I’m not a genius, Tony, but I’m not an idiot,” he said, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice. “And I know _you_.” Taking a deep breath, he squared Tony with a hard stare, his shoulders forming a tense line. “I know that the moment you decided to explode that device, you knew exactly what are the odds of you surviving.”

Tony stared at him in silence one long moment. His face was expressionless. Steve sighed, the anger slowly seeping out of him, leaving only a heavy weight that was pressing against his chest. It felt like sorrow.

It felt like loss.

“So,” Steve said in a quiet voice. He kept his gaze on Tony’s face. A shadow of guilt passed across Tony’s face. Steve counted it as a hollow victory. “Are you going to tell me the number or do I have to guess?”

A tiny tremor went through Tony’s body. Otherwise, he made no move. It was an unusual sight, almost unnatural, to watch him so still. Usually, Tony was motion personified.

“What does it matter now?” Tony asked instead of answering. Steve was not surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. “I’m standing here, New Jersey is not a smoking crater, and I already have crews cleaning up the wreckage.”

Steve looked away for a second, his hands curling into loose fists out of sheer helpless frustration. They have been through so much - some of it really ugly - and it still seemed as if they were speaking two different languages at times.

“And it couldn’t have been done without you risking your life?”

Tony let out a low exasperated sound. He dragged his fingers through his hair. “There was no time for a discussion and a voting process,” Tony said. The expression on his face was a strange combination of aggravation and something that looked almost like dread. “Or did you want me to let it charge fully and blow all of us as well as a large part of New York?”

“No, Tony,” Steve said, voice heavy with sorrow and something that clawed at the inside of his chest. “I wanted you to trust me. Still do.” Steve paused, felt his mouth curve into a tight smile. “I guess that’s not likely to happen.”

Tony’s eyes went wide, a deep crease forming on his forehead. He made an aborted move to step forward, but ground to a halt.

“Not likely to happen?” Tony repeated, incredulous. He was staring at Steve as if he couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. “Steve, you have the override codes for the suit. No one has that. No one ever did.”

“Yeah, Tony, you gave me the power to shut Iron Man down if you ever get compromised,” Steve said, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “How’s that going to help next time you decide to ignore the rest of the team and just do whatever you think is necessary?”

Tony blinked, his mouth pressing into a thin, bitter line. “Yeah, _I_ am the one with trust issues here.”

Something snapped inside Steve, a string frayed by anger and misery. He brought his hands up to his face, his fingers digging deep into his forehead.

“Goddamn you, Tony,” he swore, his words muffled. His thoughts were reduced to white noise, and each intake of breath felt like swallowing coals. He felt like he was drowning.

Steve wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but when he gathered himself under control and lowered his hands, Tony was standing barely a step away, and he looked about as well as Steve was currently feeling; tired, lost, afraid.

“You didn’t tell me anything, Tony. Not the situation at hand, not what you were planning. Not a damn thing. All I got from you was ‘oh shit’ before you stopped responding. And then the building went down.” Steve’s eyes fell shut. And just like that, he was back on the street, and there was no sign of Iron Man. There was nothing, nothing, and it was worse than falling, worse than dying.

Steve sucked in a harsh breath, snapped his eyes open. Tony was staring at him. He looked miserable. Steve knew exactly how it felt.

“I thought you were dead, Tony,” Steve said. His voice came out flat, hollow, somehow void of everything that was currently wreaking havoc inside his chest. He dragged a trembling hand across his face. “Do you understand that? I was certain you were gone.”

“Steve,” Tony pleaded, reaching after Steve. He took a step forward.

Steve lifted a hand, stopping Tony in his tracks. “I can’t do this anymore, Tony,” he said quietly. He felt a strange numbness settle over him. “I love you, but I can’t.” 

A choked off gasp fell out of Tony’s mouth. His eyes went wide with shock and something that looked like awe. A small smile flickered across Tony’s face. For just a moment, Tony looked happy. All his masks were down, there were no defenses, it was just Tony.

Then Tony shook his head, and just like that, his expression went blank, his mouth curving into a sardonic grin. “Well, this is a first,” he said. A couple of months back, his tone would have made Steve’s hackles rise. Now, Steve knew better. It didn’t make it any less painful though. “I’ve had some pretty colorful break-ups, but no one had said they loved me for the first time then broke up with me in the same breath.” A low, bitter chuckle fell from Tony’s lips. “You’re special, Rogers.”

Steve’s jaw went tight. It was incredible, really, how easy Tony could get under his skin and push his buttons. Even now.

Before Steve became aware he’d made a decision to move, he was standing in front of Tony, clutching his shoulders.

“Haven't you heard a damn word I said? I _don’t want_ to break-up with you, but I can’t go into battle worrying about the next creative way you’ll come up with to kill yourself.” Cutting himself off, Steve took a deep breath, forcing his grip on Tony’s shoulders to loosen. He couldn’t quite persuade himself to pull his hands away. But he needed to put space between them. He couldn’t think rationally this close to Tony. He took another steadying breath, stepped back, curled his hands into fists. “I’m compromised, and as a team leader that is something I cannot afford.”

Tony tilted his head. He regarded Steve with unblinking gaze, but there was something in his eyes - soft, frail, vulnerable - that made Steve’s heart clench painfully.

“You want to talk about being compromised, Steve? Let’s talk about it.”

Tony shook his head, his gaze becoming distant and unfocused for a second. “You asked me about the numbers. And yeah, I did consider the numbers before doing what I did, but not those you think.” Tony trailed off, looking away. He made a step to the side, slid his hands into his pockets. When he glanced back, there was a rueful sort of a smile on his face. “Hundred percent,” Tony said softly. Steve frowned, uncomprehending. “That had been the likelihood of you dying if I failed. That’s the first thing that came to my mind, Steve. Not the lives of unsuspecting civilians. _You_. So tell me, _Captain_ , what kind of a hero that makes me? How compromised am I?”

Steve opened his mouth but no sound came out. He had no words. He could not even put a name to the emotion that was building inside his chest.

Tony smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile. The kind Steve was used to seeing when they were lying in bed, sweat cooling on their bodies, Tony’s head resting on Steve’s naked chest. Steve exhaled sharply, his heart drumming wildly behind his ribcage.

“I’m not an adrenaline junkie, nor am I reckless to the point of suicide. Despite the abundant evidence to the contrary,” Tony said, the smile sliding off his face. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, straightening. “I’m not gambling with my life, Steve. I’d very much like to stay alive and in one piece. You can trust me on that. But if it ever comes down to choosing between our lives?” Tony paused, his eyes fixed on Steve’s face, the look in them so familiar, seen so many times, and yet, this was the first time Steve could actually give it a name. “Well… that’s not really a choice.”

“What?” Steve said, voice raw. He felt dizzy, unmoored. He knew what Tony was telling him, but he couldn’t quite believe it. Tony cared for him, of that Steve was certain, but _this_? “What are you--?”

Tony frowned. “Oh, come on,” Tony said, his eyes darting across Steve's face, searching for something he wouldn't find. Steve stared at him, the rush of blood in his ears reaching almost deafening level. “You must have-- _oh_.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether the sound that was lodged inside his throat was a laughter or something else entirely. He swallowed around it. He stared at Tony’s bewildered face, his thoughts reduced to a continuous loop of three simple words. “You never said it. How was I supposed to know?”

Tony let out an incredulous laughter. He strode forward, grabbed Steve’s face between his hands. “I’ve been embarrassingly in love with you for years,” he said, voice clear and strong. “Everyone knew. I thought-- I was certain you knew.”

Steve smiled, leaning into Tony’s touch. “Same here.”

Tony pulled Steve’s head down, leaned his forehead against Steve’s. Steve didn't hesitate; he wrapped his hands around Tony’s waist, and shut his eyes. The sensation that washed over him felt like coming home.

“God, we really need to talk more.” Tony laughed, a touch hysterical. He slid his right hand down to the nape of Steve’s neck, gripped hard. “It’s a miracle we haven't fucked everything up.” Suddenly, Tony froze, his body going rigid in Steve's arms. Alarmed, Steve opened his eyes. 

Slowly, Tony pulled back, his face going grim. “Or is it too late? Have I fucked everything up? Are we over, Steve?”

Steve cupped Tony’s face. He traced the line of Tony’s jaw with his thumb, once again amazed at how deeply entwined his life had become with Tony’s. How much his happiness depended on him. It was a frightening thought, in a way. Dangerous even. But Steve has never in his life run away from danger.

“No, it's not too late,” Steve whispered, watching as Tony's eyes sparked with cautious hope. Smiling, Steve leaned down, until his lips were brushing Tony’s. “Let’s call it a fresh start.”


End file.
